Reversing the Tide
by embroiderama
Summary: The first time Sam takes care of Dean.


Title: Reversing the Tide

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

Pairing: none - gen

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: The first time Sam takes care of Dean. For the spnchallenges "Firsts" chart challenge.

Role Reversal

They were 200 miles outside their latest destination, and Dean already knew it was going to be a bad goddamn trip. Dad was in the backseat of the Impala sleeping off a hangover, and Sammy was behind the wheel. He'd only had his license for a month now, and Dad rarely let him drive, but the kid had argued that he deserved a reward for remembering the incantation that smoked that demon last night. Dad, apparently not having the stomach to continue the argument, had just mumbled, "Yeah, okay," before slumping into the back seat.

Dean made it a practice to keep his eyes peeled when Sammy was driving, but just keeping them open was starting to feel like a challenge. A hot, pulsing headache had moved in behind his eyes, and watching the road made it feel like his brain was swelling and contracting in time with the yellow dashes sliding beneath the car. One. By one. By one. By one…

He felt a hand on his arm and jerked away, opening his eyes to find that they had arrived at the motel. Sam leaned across the seat, his face creased with concern.

"Hey, Dean, you okay?"

"Yeah, dude. Just your slow ass driving put me to sleep."

Pulling away, Sam rolled his eyes and reached one long arm toward the back seat. "Dad, we're here."

While Dad walked to the small motel office to get their room keys, Sam started pulling their bags from the trunk of the Impala, and Dean pulled himself out of the car, knowing that he should help. He cursed the lethargy swamping his body and pushed past it, grabbing the duffle bag full of weapons from his brother's hand and striding toward the room.

Once inside the room, Dean couldn't resist the draw of the bed and lay down on his back, closing his eyes against the dim light. The pulsing behind his eyes had grown, and he now felt his heart beat all through his body. Dean had felt this once before, this tidal pull on his body.

Three years ago, they'd successfully hunted a ghost in a little town on the North Carolina coast. Dad had agreed to a day off, and Dean and Sam had headed straight for the beach. Dean fell in love with the feeling of the water holding him up, moving around him, taking him with it, and he'd spent a full day in the ocean, riding one small wave after the other. That night, trying to get to sleep next to Sammy, he'd felt as though he was still in the water. Even though he knew he was on solid ground, his body remembered the pull of each approaching wave, the swell and drop as it passed, the sweet rhythm of the tide.

Now, in a different motel bed in a different state, he felt that rhythm again, but instead of the pleasantly warm glow of slightly-sunburned skin, he felt the all-over tingle of fever. Instead of feeling like he'd been cradled by gentle waves all day, he felt like he'd been pounded into the sand by storm-roughened waters.

In other words, he felt like shit.

"Dean?" His father's rough voice woke Dean from his light doze. "What are you doing? We've got to get ready to go stake out that werewolf tonight."

Dean blinked and shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, sir, I, uh--"

"He's sick, Dad," Sam interrupted, sounding irritated. Dean didn't know if he was pissed off at him or dad or life, but right then he didn't have the patience for his brother's adolescent whatever.

"I'm fine." But when he stood up, Dean had to reach out a hand to lean against the wall as the pulse in his head pounded loud and red behind his eyelids. When he stood up straight and opened his eyes, he saw that his father was looking less than pleased. Didn't seem fair, everybody being hacked off at him for no good reason.

"Damnit, Dean, you can't be out there backing me up like this."

"I'll be okay. Just--"

"No, I'll have to handle this one myself. Sam, stay with your brother. I should be back by tomorrow night."

Sam glared at his father. "But Dad! You said that I could come this time. I never get to help with the werewolves."

Dad shook his head and picked up his bag. "Sam, I gave you an order. Stay with your brother. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sam's jaw clenched and he crossed his arms across his chest before looking down and murmuring, "Yes, sir."

"Dean, get yourself well. I can't have you out of commission."

"Yes, sir."

The door of the hotel room opened and closed, leaving the two brothers alone in the room. Sam stalked over to the window and watched his father walk down the pavement to his own room and then turned around to look at Dean.

"This sucks."

"Yeah, well, life sucks and then you die, baby brother. Welcome to my world. You know how many times I heard that 'watch your brother' speech?"

"Yeah, I guess. Seriously, Dean, you look like shit. You must have caught the flu back there in Tennessee. The waitress at the motel diner told me it was going around."

Taking that as his cue, Dean coughed, the spasms doing nothing to help the pounding in his head. "Look, I'm just going to catch some sleep. For your sake, I hope they've got Skinemax on the cable here."

Sam scoffed, "You're such a dog." He walked over the where their bags were sitting in the corner of the room and grabbed Dad's med kit. "At least take some Tylenol."

Dean nodded and accepted the pills, swallowing them with a sip of water. He pulled his shoes and jeans off and fell into bed in his t-shirt and boxers. Listening to the calming hiss of the air conditioning unit, he drifted off to sleep.

Dean woke suddenly, ejected from an exhausting dream of run-hunt-hide-kill into a hot room and sat up as rough coughs erupted from his chest. When the coughs calmed, he opened his eyes to see his brother sitting on the bed opposite him, offering up a cup of water. Dean took it and swallowed, the tepid water feeling like honey on his throat. Sam took the empty cup back and then reached over to lay a hand on his brother's forehead.

"Get off me, bitch," Dean snapped tiredly, pushing away his brother's hand.

"Well, excuse me for caring, but you have a fever, Dean."

Dean glanced up at Sam and saw that he had the nerve to look hurt. "Ah, man, don't get your knickers in a twist. We got any more of that Tylenol?"

"Yeah, here," he measured out the pills. "I got you some juice, too."

Dean took the bottle of orange juice and felt that it was wet and cold, the label falling apart. Sam had kept it on ice for him and everything. Dean drank it down, enjoying the feeling of the ice-cold juice. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam smiled. "You're welcome. Go back to sleep."

Dean flipped his pillow over to the cool, dry side and crashed back into the deep waters of his sleep.

When he next opened his eyes, he knew it was morning by the blinding slash of sunlight assaulting his eyes from underneath the drapes. He had a moment to wonder why he'd awoken, and then his stomach cramped, sending him running toward the bathroom. He leaned over the toilet and heaved up the orange juice and the water and whatever remained from lunch yesterday and then leaned back to breathe.

He only had time for a couple of breaths before his stomach cramped again, making him lean back over the toilet and heave up nothing but bile and air, forcing involuntary tears from his eyes. He couldn't get rid of the foul taste at the back of his mouth, and he couldn't stop heaving, the rough rhythm tearing apart his head, along with his throat and his stomach.

He felt a large hand on his back and though his brain told him to shrug it off, he couldn't bring himself to make the effort. In the middle of so much that sucked--kneeling on this dirty tile floor, barfing up his eyeballs--it killed him to admit it, but his brother's hand on his back felt, well, good. Comforting, god help him.

Feeling the stomach cramps ease up, Dean leaned back into the support of that hand, wiping off his mouth with a muttered, "Ugh, god, kill me now."

"No way, man. Dad told me to watch out for you, and I don't think killing you was what he had in mind."

"My luck, you pick now to actually listen to the old man." Dean's noticed the remaining sour taste in his mouth and felt his stomach flip over again. "You got any water?"

"Here," Sam passed over a full cup. "Small sips, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He washed out his mouth and took a few cautious sips. "Thanks."

"You ready to go back to bed?"

"Yeah, I guess." He started to push himself up from the floor and felt his brother's hand under his elbow, pulling him smoothly to his feet. He looked into his brother's concerned eyes and nodded tiredly in thanks.

The next time he woke up, only cool evening light was filtering in under the drapery, and the room felt comfortable. Dean sat up and stretched and noticed with relief that his chest felt clear and his stomach settled. Everything still felt a little sore, but he knew he'd be good to go by the next day.

The TV was on, and Dean looked over to see Sam in the next bed, sitting propped up against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him, fast asleep. From outside, he heard the familiar growl of the Impala's engine and another growl from his empty stomach.

Everybody was back home again; time to wake his brother for dinner.


End file.
